Guardian
by windandwater93
Summary: After making a promise to his dying friend, Castiel becomes the guardian of their only child. Through the years, he keeps a close eye on her from a distance while maintaining his career as a professor of literature at a university. Now the child is grown and in his class. As war wages within him, Castiel also finds himself facing a sinister, long forgotten foe.
1. Prologue

Lawrence, Kansas

November 2, 2020

From the outside, it is nothing more than an ordinary house. Single story, brick. Flowers and hedges outline it. There's a chimney, a wrought iron fence, and neatly trimmed grass that is spattered with the bright colors of autumn leaves. An Impala sits in the driveway, its mint condition anally maintained by the owner who had just given his baby a much needed wash and wax that very morning.

Yes, it is a very normal, ordinary looking house. You wouldn't know of the demon traps under each and every rug, the salt lining the windows, hidden by curtains; you wouldn't know of the arsenal kept in a floorboard at the edge of the owner's bed. Just in case, he'd always tell his wife whenever he'd check to make sure everything was still in place. Secretly, he prayed he'd never have to lift the floorboard for any other reason.

The windows of the house are dark, the curtains drawn. It is practically noiseless from the street. The neighbors are oblivious, late night passerby seem to not notice the muffled sounds of the nightmare within.

If they had gone through the front door-all they had to do was push, for it was already unlocked and slightly ajar-they would have found a woman's body lying half in and half out of the entrance to the hallway from the living room. She has dark brown hair, now soaked in blood as it pools from the deep slit in her throat. Her eyes are still wide, her face still contorted with the horror of her final moments. One of her legs is bent at an odd angle; a hand, fingers still slightly curled, the bottle it once held dripping formula on the hardwood flooring several feet away.

If they still had courage, they'd have to sidestep the bottle, avoid the blood ebbing across the floor just to go down the hallway. Just a few steps, make a turn at the second door on their left, they'd find themselves in the master bedroom. The heavy covers of the four poster bed are in disarray, one of the nightstands turned over. There is broken glass from a shattered bulb and a crack in one of the walls. Moonlight streams through the gossamer curtains. It is in this room that a man, a mortal man, lies at the end of the bed. He's wearing sweatpants and a Guns N Roses band t-shirt that his brother had gotten him for his birthday the year before. Beads of sweat and blood trickle down his face. His breathing is heavy; he's been out of practice for a long time. With narrowed eyes, he stares down the thing before him.

Although the body is made of flesh, the creature within is not. It is an unholy thing, black to its core, writhing with an unspeakable evil.

"You've lost your touch," it sneers. The teeth are white, pearlescent. "And here I thought you were going to be more of a challenge."

"Sorry to disappoint." The man struggles to sit himself upright, but lets out a hiss at the pain from the deep gash in his back. "You ruined my favorite shirt, you son of a bitch. Bet that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, huh?"

With a snarl, the creature grabs the man by his neck. "No. Spraying your blood everywhere…Well, I think that'll do the trick."

"Trust me, pal, I've met my fair share of monsters. You don't even come in the top twenty."

"Is that so?" He smirked. "Your wife seemed to think I was pretty terrifying. Before I slit her throat."

The man jerked forward, causing the demon to laugh at his attempt of attack.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?"

"You shut the hell up." A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trickled down the side of his face. It didn't go unnoticed.

"Don't worry, Dean Winchester. You'll be joining her soon enough. Sooner than you think." He let go of Dean's throat and then gave his face a firm pat. "So, chin up."

Suddenly a wail made its way through the silence of the house. The demon turned to the sound. Dean followed his gaze and his eyes began to fill with tears, with fear. "Please…" he whispered.

There was a rumble of laughter deep within the creature's chest and a sinister smile, like a wolf's, spreads over his bearded, tan face. "I never liked babies. So needy. Always…crying." He turned back to Dean. "And so helpless." He got closer. "Tell me, Dean Winchester, should I kill her first and then you? Or should I just save her for last?"

Dean's jaw clenches and a look of malice takes over his eyes. "Go fuck yourself."

Their eyes remained locked, unblinking, man staring down monster, monster staring down man.

Then there came a sound, a piercing sound of flesh being broken.

From inside his vessel, the creature was scorched, his eyes flashing, mouth agape; Dean heaved, gasped, his body suddenly overcome with a searing, white-hot pain.

The creature fell back, unmoving, the blade still protruding from his chest.

Blood began to leak from Dean's lips as he trembled, looking down at the blade that had been stuck fast into his abdomen. It hurt like hell. Sure, not as bad as hellhounds ripping him open, or any monster for that matter, but the end result-the one he knew that he was on the cusp of-enhanced the pain tenfold. There was only one person Dean knew that could help him.

"C-Cas…" he managed. "Cas, I…need you…"

With his last bit of strength, he pulled the blade from the wound, gasping as he let the blood race from within. He let the blade fall to his side. In some meager attempt, he pressed one of his hands against the wound. Blood seeped through the cracks in his fingers.

"Cas…please…"

He heard the familiar flutter of wings, a sound he had not heard for the past three years. Before him stood his friend. He reached out to him with a blood soaked hand. "Cas…"

The angel kneeled before him. "Dean…What happened?" He looked from Dean to the body on the floor.

"Demon…" was the reply. "Thought he had me by surprise. Moron."

"Here. Let me help you." Castiel reached forward, but Dean grabbed his hand, stopping him. He shook his head.

"No, Cas…Not this time."

"Dean, I have to. You will die."

"It's…okay. Not so bad." A sad smile came to his face. "Don't…tell Sam."

"I don't understand. Why?"

Dean didn't respond and, slowly, his eyelids began to close. "Watch…Watch over her, Cas…" He lifted a hand and gestured at the door opposite of his own. "P-Promise…me…" He gripped the angel's hand tighter with all the strength he had left in him. "Promise…"

"I promise," Castiel said. He placed his other hand over Dean's. "I promise, my friend."

"Good…And don't you go bringing me back, either, okay?"

"Dean-"

"Cas."

There was a finality in his voice, one that Castiel had come to recognize and understand. "Very well." He shook his head. "What about Sam?"

"In the…nightstand…He'll understand…"

"Dean, you just can't-"

"Don't worry…Cas. It's…okay." Dean gave a ragged cough. "Ass...butt."

And, with a crack of a smile on his face, the life faded from the Dean's eyes and he slumped over. For a moment, the angel just stared, wanting to not believe in what now lay before him. In the past, he would've simply walked away, for a human soul is fleeting and was once worth so little; a dime a dozen, they're all the same.

Now, however, he felt trapped. _Bring him back,_ a voice commanded. _Do it. Bring him back._ But he couldn't, could he. An angel's word is bound and for the many times he'd made a promise to the Winchesters and it was broken, this was not one of them. Not now.

 _But why not? Don't you care?_

Of course he cared. But there was something there, something he'd seen in his friend's mind, felt in his soul, that was stopping him from acting. And this…this was the result of inaction: A death of a good man.

A grieved, tortured moan came from his lips and he clutched his friend close to him as he sobbed, his body violently tremoring. He remained like this for some time, tears racing down his face, the same cries of agony ripping through the silence of the house. He had been amongst men for so long that now, he knew what despair was, what sadness was. He knew the pain of tears as they stung his eyes, the tightness in one's chest as grief overwhelmed them. But, damn it all, he hated it.

 _Dean Winchester is no more. Dean Winchester is no more._

This thought raced through his mind until a cry that was not his own pierced his ears. He stopped. It wasn't a cry, no. More like a squall. I need someone, it said. Help.

Help.

How long had the child been crying? Had she been doing this the whole time? Surely not…

Still trembling, Castiel laid Dean down on the floor and rose to his feet. He crossed the hallway into the room.

It was a nursery. The walls were painted the color of a soft blush, elephants holding each other's tails with their trunks bordered the ceiling. There were shelves of little knickknacks, stuffed animals, and books. The carpet, much like the crib that stood against the wall to his right, was a pure, clean white. A mobile hung over the infant's head, little puffy clouds and smiling angels with bright yellow halos spinning slowly, Brahms' lullaby playing soft and sweet.

Castiel peered down into the crib. Before him was the child, her face red, her eyes scrunched closed, her tiny fists balled up. She was kicking, screaming, frustrated that no one had come to her aid. She was hungry, her time to feed past due.

"There there," he whispered, picking her up. He cradled her in the crook of his arm and placed two fingers to her forehead. Her crying ceased and she blinked, staring up at him. She had a tuft of light blonde hair and…

Castiel felt something catch within him. The same eyes that looked up at him were the same eyes that had just drifted closed in the next room; her father's eyes.

She let out a burble of contentment and raised a little hand at him in a gesture of acknowledgement.

"I'm here," he said to her. "Don't worry, little one. I'm here."

And, then, the quietness was all that remained. Once again, the house became nothing more than just a house, still and peaceful on that cool November night.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Lawrence, Kansas

5 years later

"Sam? Sam, honey, we're going to be late." Terra called out to her husband through the bathroom door as she poked a pearl earring through her ear. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah. I'm…I'm fine." But not really. Not entirely.

"Okay, well, we have to leave in about a half hour. You know how Janice and Robbie get when people are late."

Sam went quiet. The hot water was scalding, reddening his skin, but he didn't feel it. It had been five years and, somehow, he still wasn't used to it. Maybe it was the fact that Dean was actually…

Go on. Say it.

Dead.

Both him and Rachel. And Dean…He wasn't coming back. Not this time. No angel would bring him back, no spells, nothing. And he had tried. Damn it all, he had tried. He knew how to do it, knew what the stakes were. No demon summoning, he knew better than that now, but Death, upon meeting him, refused.

 _I'm sorry. No can do, Sam. Your brother wanted to stay dead this time._

That was the abridged version, anyway. He'd sent Sam packing, no matter how much Sam had begged and bargained, there was nothing to be done. So Sam had had to watch as they lowered the coffins in the ground. He'd walked away, then. The realization had struck him that his brother was indeed truly gone and he himself had made the choice to stay gone. Had Dean simply given up? That didn't sound like him, nothing about it added up.

He battled these thoughts daily. No matter what, however, none of it trumped the fact that he hadn't even been there in his brother's final moments. No, Sam had just been on the receiving line.

He reached over and turned off the water. He remembered that night well.

 _He couldn't sleep. Weary eyed Sam looked over at the clock on his nightstand. It was still early in the night, eleven o'clock or so. He turned over. Terra was fast asleep, clutching a pillow close to her. Her mass of auburn curls tumbled about her shoulders. She had taken a bath before bed. From here he could still smell the scent of her body wash, some kind of flower._

 _This was the second night they'd gone to bed angry. Or, really, her angry at him. He'd breached the subject of taking down the nursery they'd finished up three months prior. The doctors had given them the news, but Terra was still trying, unwilling to just give up. So, of course, when he'd mentioned taking down the nursery, she'd gotten angry, upset. They'd fought for about fifteen minutes before she stormed out the door, keys in tow._

 _He rolled back over. No point in staying here, he thought. Quietly, he eased himself from the bed and made his way to the kitchen downstairs. Maybe he should call Dean in the morning. He'd gotten better at the whole "woman" thing as the years had passed, his brother. Gotten a tad more sensitive, especially after meeting Rachel. He had no eyes for anyone else but her and had made himself a gung-ho family man, dad and husband of the year._

 _Maybe I should just go see him instead, Sam thought as he poured himself a glass of water. After all, he hadn't been to visit for about a month, despite the fact the other Winchester family only lived ten minutes away. It would do him some good, he decided. Maybe sit around, have a few beers, shoot the bull for a few hours. Just like old times._

 _Sam cracked a smile. Yeah. That sounded like a plan, alright. Boy, wouldn't Dean be surprised. Ever since Sam's firm had finally picked up business, he'd gotten less and less free time. Dean never complained, though. They'd call one another, talk for about a half hour, and then go back to their lives. As far as the other one knew, they were happy and content._

 _Sam settled in front of the television, plopping himself on the sofa. Somehow, he wound up watching some documentary (the details of it he couldn't recall, only that the narrator was practically monotonous)._

 _An hour passed. Midnight._

 _And, as if on cue, there was a double knock on his door._

 _Sam felt something jar within him. Although he'd been retired of the business for over three years, things that went bump in the night still startled him. He still found himself reaching for salt, lining the doors and windows with it whenever a light so much as flickered, interfering in whatever strange gossip reached him (though it always came up fruitless). Needless to say, this wasn't any different. Any kind of knock at midnight would surely put anyone on edge. Right?_

 _He reached for the remote and turned off the television. Slowly, he sat the glass down while simultaneously reaching under the couch cushion for the blade he'd stashed there._

 _Another knock sounded and he rose, quietly, and moved to the door. When he peeked through the peephole, he saw an old, familiar face._

 _"Cas?" He opened the door. "Cas, what are you doing here?"_ How _are you here? There was no sign of his vehicle anywhere._

 _Castiel looked worse for wear, eyes red and bloodshot._

 _Then, "Cas…Why do you have Beth?"_

 _The angel said nothing at first. Sam could see the slight tremor coursing through him, the familiar look of pain in his face._

 _"Cas. Why. Do you. Have Beth?" He could've shaken him. His expression was so vacant._

 _"Sam…"_

 _"What?"_

 _"Sam…Dean is dead."_

 _If Castiel had said anything further, Sam didn't hear it. A wave of silence flooded his mind, drowning out everything around him. All he heard were the words "Dean is dead" over and over again. It couldn't be. Something tightened in his chest, constricted his breathing, was breaking his ribcage. His head was pounding, the world swirling, fading. It felt like something had punched him, kicked him, burned him, all at the same time._

 _"Sam."_

 _When Sam came to, he realized that he was gripping the doorframe, his knuckles white. He was slipping, falling, crashing._

 _"How?" He managed to say._

 _"Sam-"_

 _"How, Cas?"_

 _The angel silently replied: "A demon."_

 _Sam had fallen against the door frame, the tears beginning to start. He had learned to hold back everything else. He and his brother had faced death multiple times before, yet…_

 _Dean, he thought. No, he's not dead, he can't be. Just some joke, just some_ _cruel_ _joke. He's not dead, he's not. He's not._

 _He'd just become a father, a proud one at that. He'd looked at his daughter with such happiness the first time he held her. I'm going to be the best dad to you, he'd told her. I'll teach you everything about cars, we'll eat pie all the time. Just don't tell Mom. He'd smiled. You'll never want for anything. I promise you that, kiddo._

 _Sam continued to cry, his great shoulders heaving as the injustice of it all overwhelmed him. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare. A demon had taken his brother. Of course it had come for him, it would've come for Sam next. They were the Winchester brothers and they were retired, off their game. Easy targets. That's what they had become._

" _I couldn't save him," Castiel said. "He...He had died by the time I'd gotten there. Rachel as well."_

 _Sam said nothing in response as anger began to consume him. He stood straighter, now, fists clenched. "What about the demon?"_

 _"Also dead. Dean seemed to have killed it."_

 _"Good."_

 _The angel moved closer to the younger Winchester. "Listen, Sam, there's something else I need to tell you. It's…very important."_

 _"What?"_

 _Castiel swallowed. "I brought Beth here to you, because she is your goddaughter and you and Terra could give her a chance at a happy life. You are the only family she has left, Sam."_

Sam climbed from the shower and grabbed his robe from its hook, slipping it on and tightening the belt. That had been five years ago, when Castiel had handed him Beth and disappeared.

He'd driven to his brother's house, of course, but he didn't make a move to climb from his truck to go in. He hadn't wanted to see what was in there, hadn't wanted to see the sight of his brother…dead...

So he'd just sat there, called 911, and told them that he had found the door open to his brother's house and that it looked like there had been a robbery gone wrong.

A robbery gone wrong. That was the best story he had come up with. He had hated it then, and he hated it now. Dean could've taken any mere robber.

"Uncle Sammy?"

A tiny knock at the door alerted him and he unlocked it, revealing a girl of five already in her pink polka-dotted pajamas. "Hey, kiddo. What can I do for you?"

"Aunt Terra said I could bring this to you." Beth smiled a gap toothed grin and she held up a navy blue tie. "You forgot it on the bed."

"Aw, thanks." He took it from her, smiling, and ruffled her mess of blonde hair. "Want to help me put it on before I go?"

She nodded. Her eyes-Dean's eyes-glimmered with excitement.

"Alright, give me just one sec and I'll be out." He closed the door and he stood there, just for a moment, and listened. He heard her softly slide down the wall next to the door. No doubt when he opened it she would be sitting there, cross-legged, with the most perfect patience he'd ever seen from a five year old.

After he was dressed, he opened the door once again. Sure enough, there she sat, hands in her lap, proper as could be.

"Are you ready?" she asked, scrambling up from the floor.

"Sure am." He got down on his knees in front of her and held out the tie. "Miss Beth, would you do the honors for me?"

Beth giggled and she slipped the tie around his neck.

Sam watched her with admiration as her little fingers moved nimbly. He'd shown her how to tie a tie several times before, even let her practice on him. He didn't know why she loved it so much, but every time he had to get dressed up for some event or some dinner party, or even when he had to go to court, she was always there to put on his tie. She was a fast learner that was for sure. Just like her dad.

Yeah…just like her dad. God. He would be so damn proud of her.

"Uncle Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

She was looking at him. "Why are you sad?"

He felt that same constriction in his chest once again. It seemed to never go away. "What makes you think I'm sad, Bee?"

"You make that same face whenever we go and take flowers to Daddy and Mommy, or when Grandma doesn't answer her phone when you call her. And then you don't say anything for a long time. I asked Aunt Terra why and she said it was because you were sad." Beth put the finishing touches to the tie. "So, why are you sad?"

And, like that, he came up with the most convenient lie he could. Some things never change. "Because…Because I'm not going to be here to read you the next chapter of that book."

A smile came to her face. "Do you think Jo and the professor will fall in love?"

Sam gave a little chuckle. "You're going to have to wait until tomorrow night to find out, I'm afraid."

"I think they will," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He's better for her than Laurie."

"You think so?"

His niece nodded and then, "Uncle Sammy?"

"Yeah, Bee?"

Without saying anything else, she leaned in and embraced him, her little arms wrapping around his neck. "I love you."

He returned the embrace, bringing her in close, and planted a kiss in her hair. "I love you too, kiddo."

They let go of one another and he stood up, just as he heard the door downstairs open and two voices trail up the stairs.

"Sounds like Zoe's here."

Beth let out a gasp and she took off, then, practically tumbling down the stairs to her babysitter. He followed her to where Terra stood with the seventeen year old. She had dyed her hair again; silver this time. And had it gotten shorter?

"Hey, Mr. W," she greeted, her hands in the pockets of her black jeans. "How are you?"

"Fine, Zoe." He ruffled Beth's hair once again. "Goodnight, Bee. Be good."

"We'll be fine," Zoe said. "Won't we, Beth?"

Beth grinned up at Zoe. "Yep!"

"Alright, well, you two have a good night. We'll be back around eleven, Zoe." Terra picked up her purse and slipped it over her shoulder. "C'mon, Sam. We're going to be late."

The two of them slipped out the door and, once they had taken off in Terra's car, Sam began to wonder why it was he'd wanted to ask Beth if she'd seen the funny man in the trench coat again. He cast his eyes at the house as it slipped from his view.

He'd been popping up more and more, for some reason, Castiel did. What Sam couldn't figure out was why the angel had fixated himself on keeping Beth entertained each and every day. To her Castiel was nothing more than an imaginary friend; some to call upon whenever she needed him. Sam had had to play dumb once, when he'd walked into her room one afternoon and, by pure surprise, found Cas sitting at Beth's little play table, a plastic saucer and cup in his hands and a glittery tiara on his head. He had to pretend he didn't see him, had to keep the laughter bottled down.

" _Would you like more tea, Miss Juniper?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Yes…?"_

 _Castiel cleared his throat. "Yes, please, Miss Mayzie."_

 _Beth laughed as she poured his "tea". "Puppy, you're so silly."_

Puppy. That was her name for him. Because of his eyes, she'd told Sam when he asked her about her new friend. They reminded her of a puppy's eyes, gentle and sad.

Over time, Sam had seen Castiel here and there, pushing Beth on the swing, handing her flowers as she made her crowns and necklaces. He was even in her latest production of Theodore the Elephant Saves Marble the Lamb from the Wicked Witch of the West. Puppy was always Theodore the Elephant, mainly because she said he made the best elephant noises she'd ever heard.

A lump formed in his throat, and the oh so familiar dark cloud came floating overhead. This shouldn't even be happening, he thought.

Dean should be the one doing all of this for her. He should be the one sitting with his daughter, wearing a tiara and asking for more tea in a fake British accent. He should be the one playing Theodore the Elephant because he can make the best elephant noises. He should be the one here, not Sam. Why Dean, he thought. Why couldn't it have been me instead? Dean had had so much more to live for than he did…

He leaned back in the seat as Terra flipped on the left turning signal.

It should've been me, he thought. This should've been his life. Not mine.

This story should've never been written.

Back at the house

"Alright, Bee, time for bed."

Zoe ran a hand over her silver hair as she watched the five year old climb into the bed, settling in and pulling the covers up to her chin. She was the easiest kid she'd ever babysat, that was for damn sure. Why couldn't all kids do this?

"You want me to leave the light on?"

Beth's eyes darted to the lamp. She swallowed and then turned to Zoe. "Can we leave it on?"

"Sure thing, Bee." She walked over to the toy chest and plucked Beth's stuffed elephant from the top. "Want Theodore?"

Beth nodded and Zoe handed him to her.

"G'night, kid." Zoe patted the child's head and walked out the door, leaving a slight crack as she closed it. She'd been the kid's babysitter since she was three and never had a problem with her. She'd often wondered if it was because she was an orphan, being raised by her aunt and uncle, never really knowing her parents. It was sad, yeah, but Beth seemed happy. She even had an imaginary friend that she called Puppy. Zoe had never seen him, but apparently he was really funny and knew cool magic tricks.

As Zoe walked down the stairs, she stopped. She stood there, quietly, the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs the only noise in the whole house. What was she listening for? Why the hell was it so quiet? She shrugged. Maybe it was just her imagination. Still, the Winchester's lamps had never flickered before, not in the time she'd been here.

Zoe watched lamp light flicker. One. Two. Three…Four.

Just four.

Beth pulled the covers up higher. Usually the lamp flickered five times before stopping. She had wanted to be a big girl and not have the light at all, but it was what kept the thing in her closet from coming out. He liked the nighttime. She'd never seen him before, since she was always asleep whenever Uncle Sammy or Aunt Terra came in and turned out the light.

But she knew he was there lurking in her closet. She heard him sometimes. He said bad words, cackled like the Wicked Witch. Once he had even dared to go as far as open her closet door a little. She had seen his fingers, dark and grimy. His nails were long, pointy, and filthy. She had pulled the covers over her head that night and forced herself to go to sleep.

She hadn't told Uncle Sammy about the thing. She didn't like to worry him or make him sad. But she was scared. What if the monster got brave and came out of the closet anyways, not just his hand, but all the way, even if her light was on? The thought terrified her and she sunk further into the bed, shaking.

"Puppy?" she whispered. "Puppy are you there?"

It was all quiet for a moment and then she heard a voice along with a weight close to her feet.

"Hello, Bee."

Beth sat up and saw Puppy sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed. She let out a squeal of excitement and crawled towards him. "Puppy, you're here!" She threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad you came."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Beth sat back and grinned at him. "Look! I lost another tooth!" She pointed at the new gap on the top row of her teeth.

Castiel gave her a small smile. "So you did."

"And you know what else?"

"What?"

"The tooth fairy gave me a quarter!" Her eyebrows suddenly furled together. "Puppy, why are you wet?" Her tiny hand patted the sleeve of his coat.

"Oh. That." Castiel cleared his throat. "It was raining."

"Raining? In the Cloud Kingdom?"

"Um…yes?"

"But how can it rain if you're on the clouds?"

"There are clouds above us." He answered, trying to make it sound matter of fact.

Beth cocked her head to the side and then nodded. "I guess that makes sense." She didn't say anything else after that and began pulling one of Theodore's ears.

"Bee? Is something wrong?"

Beth frowned. "Puppy…Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course, Bee."

Beth tugged Theodore's ears more. "I think there's a bad man in my closet."

Castiel froze as she said this. "A bad man?"

She nodded.

"In your closet?"

She nodded again.

"I see."

He turned, slowly rose from the bed and walked towards the closet. "Bee," he said. "Can you be brave for me?"

Beth hugged Theodore close to her, but didn't reply.

"Bee, I'm going to count to three. And then I want you to be brave, turn out the light, and hide under the covers."

"Hide under the covers?" That didn't sound very brave at all.

"Yes. And whatever you hear, you cannot peak, understand? It's like a game."

Beth slowly climbed back under the covers and leaned over to her lamp, her fingers poised to turn it off. She could feel herself trembling. "Puppy, I'm scared."

Castiel turned his head to her and smiled. "Don't be," he said. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. Now," he placed his hand on the handle of the closet and turned back to face it. "Are you ready?"

"Y-Yes," she stammered. She had to be brave. For Puppy.

"Okay. Remember. On the count of three. One…Two…"

He then thrust the door open wide.

"Three."


	3. Chapter Two

_There were screams, so loud, so piercing, she had to cover her ears. There was a flash of bright white light and then…silence._

 _Her breathing was ragged. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. "Puppy?" she whispered. "Puppy?"_

 _Slowly, she removed the covers from her head and turned the lamp back on. Her closet door was wide open but, now, nothing lurked inside. It was vacant except for her clothes and shoes. Had Puppy gotten rid of the bad man?_

 _"Puppy?" She sat up all the way in her bed. Where was he? "Puppy, where did you go?'_

 _What if something bad had happened to him? What if the bad man had hurt him? Beth felt hot tears pool in her eyes. It would be all her fault. She shouldn't have said anything about the bad man. Now…Now Puppy was gone, probably hurt._

 _Beth rubbed her eyes. She was being a baby, she knew that, but she couldn't help but cry at the thought of Puppy being hurt in any way. It scared her, mainly because she wasn't able to help…_

 _Maybe…Maybe he'll be back in the morning, she thought. Maybe he just took the bad man to jail or something and now he has to rest…Maybe he's not hurt at all._

 _The idea cheered her up, but only a little, and she rolled over onto her side, clutching Theodore and resting him under her chin. "Goodnight, Puppy," she said quietly as her eyes began to close. "Wherever you are."_

Fifteen years later

I opened my eyes to the alarm on my phone going off. Seven-thirty. With a groan, I reached over, grabbed my phone, and killed the persistent beeping.

A part of me wanted to stay there in the warmth of my bed, while the other more logical, mature part of me told me to get up. After all, today was the day.

Right, I thought. First day of class. Hip-hip hooray.

With a yawn, I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. First day of class. It had gotten here faster than I had anticipated and, if I were really honest with myself, I couldn't have been happier. I had been putting college off for the past two years but today was finally the day. I was getting out of here.

After I pulled myself from bed, I trudged down the stairs and made my way into the kitchen, where Uncle Sam was already sitting at the table, mug of coffee in his hand, sporting a black t-shirt and jeans. He was glancing through his propped up tablet, swiping each page. Probably over another case.

Working on a day off again, I thought. Typical. Fifty-two years old and he's still kicking like he's in his thirties.

He looked up, noticing me come in. "Morning, Bee. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, I guess." I went over to the pantry and pulled out a box of cereal.

"You guess?"

I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I grabbed a bowl and a spoon. I didn't have to look at him to know that the usual interrogative questions were piling up in his brain. "Yeah…just, weird dream."

"Weird how?"

I knocked the fridge door closed with my hip, milk in my other hand, and made my way over to the table. I didn't say anything as I poured out a big helping of cereal and then drowned it in the almond milk.

"Bee?"

I sat down and dipped my spoon into the bowl. "Uncle Sam…do you remember that imaginary friend I had when I was younger? Puppy?"

"What about him?"

I slipped a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. It tasted dry. Bland. "I had a dream about him last night. Or…at least I think I did. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

I shrugged. "I can't even remember what he looked like, Uncle Sam. Or what he sounded like. It's just…weird, you know? One minute he's practically my only friend, and now it's as if my brain wiped him out of my memory."

Uncle Sam moved his tablet to the side. "Well, I mean, Bee, you did have that one bad experience with him."

"Oh…right." The dream-the memory-came flooding back. I had been five years old. Puppy had come in the night and he'd gotten rid of the "bad man" in my closet. Even though the dream had been more somber, the reality of it was like a nightmare. A nightmare, I suppose, I had wanted to forget. Apparently I had started screaming and wailing and Zoe had had to console me until my aunt and uncle had gotten home. After that…I never saw Puppy again. He'd simply disappeared. Still, I'd often felt as if he were never truly gone. Not really. Like, he was still there somehow, some way.

Why did that sound so crazy?

"You're probably just stressed about your first day." My uncle gave me his reassuring It'll All Be Okay smile. "It's completely normal for a person's mind to dredge up old memories when they're overwhelmed about something."

"Yeah, maybe." I took another bite of my cereal. The idea of it just being stress made me feel a little better, as if I weren't crazy after all. Still. Why was it bothering me at all?

"Tell you what." Uncle Sam leaned forward and tented his fingers. "Why don't I drive you to campus?"

I rolled my eyes. "I think I'll be okay, Uncle Sam. You've been driving me to school since kindergarten…"

"All the more reason, right?" His smile broadened a little more. "C'mon. For old time's sake."

Something in his eyes made me want to say yes. After all, that would've been the nice, proper niece-like thing to do. But the very idea of being trapped in a vehicle with my uncle for the twenty minute drive trying to summon up some kind of conversation instead of sitting in that numbing silence-the same kind that had been growing for the past two years-made me nauseous.

"Really, Uncle Sam. I'll be fine. I'll just take my bike, okay?"

"Alright. Yeah. Sure."

Three synonyms. He was upset. Great.

I watched as he stood up and grabbed his tablet. As he passed by me, he patted me on the shoulder, still playing the part of the reassuring uncle. "Have a great first day at school, kiddo."

I gave him a cool smile and, the moment he was out of the kitchen, I pushed my cereal bowl away, my appetite diminished.

I leaned back in my chair, craning my head towards the ceiling. "Puppy," I whispered. "I wish you were still here."

 _Bayview, Nevada_

The Night Before

"Ian!" Wendy threw open the closet, then slammed it shut again. "Ian, really, come on. It's way past your bedtime. Your parents are going to be home any minute."

She glanced around the room and, much to her relief, saw a pair of bare feet and a sliver of blue plaid pajamas poking out from underneath the bed. Casually, she strolled over to them, reached down, and pulled, yanking the seven year old out from his hiding place.

He had a look of disappointment on his face as he turned and stared up at her. "How did you find me?"

"Because I'm the master of hide and seek, that's why." She brushed a strand of her red hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. "Now, c'mon. Into bed. You know how your mom gets."

"Yeah, yeah."

Ian got to his feet and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

His babysitter leaned over to turn out the light. "Can you leave it on again?"

The girl smirked. "Ian, I told you. There's no such thing as monsters."

"Please?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She reached over and ruffled his mass of curly black hair. "Night, buddy."

As she walked into the hallway, she left the door open a crack, just like always. Still, something felt a little…off. Walking down the hallway, she stopped, and then turned to the light next to her. It flickered once, then twice, then three times and then went back to normal.

"What the hell?" She tapped the glass casing, but the light continued to remain as it was. "Weird."

She shrugged her shoulders and went into the living room, turning on the television. She found a channel that aired old cartoons and kept it there as she settled onto the sofa. Not even five minutes later, the screen on the television began to frizzle.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She made a move to get up, but stopped. She wasn't alone.

 _Wendy._

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

 _Little Wendy, all grown up._

Slowly, she turned her head, just a little, but turned it regardless. There was…something. It lurked in the shadows, flitted about like a moth, a ghost, a vampire.

Wendy made no move to get up or run. It would be pointless. She couldn't feel her legs and, even if she had been able, this was faster, stronger than she was.

 _I'm so hungry, Wendy. Be a good girl and come here to me._ He smiled a toothy grin and held out his hand, his scythe like claws extending from his dark corner. _Come now, Wendy. Don't make me come over there and get you. Do what Daddy tells you._

Wendy stood, shaking. She could feel the tears leaking from her eyes as she slowly made her way over to the dark corner.

She knew that he had finally come for her. No matter how hard she tried, she should've known there was no evading the inevitable. Most of all, she knew that the minute she reached out to him, he would take her. And she wasn't ready.

But then again, who ever really is?

 _Lawrence, Kansas_

The Following Morning

Sam flipped through the pages of the article on his tablet, reading and rereading each and every paragraph, sorting through the details.

 _Wendy Lance, 16, was found in the Phillips' residence by Mr. and Mrs. Phillips when they returned from a dinner party. Her throat was slit from ear to ear…Her head was shaved…Most of her organs had been removed. Blood was everywhere…The little boy she had been babysitting…He had been standing there, staring at her, his feet in her blood…_

The last few details he had gotten from his Chief of Police friend Jack Randolph. He had helped Jack solve a case from his home about three years back. Sam had thought it was a vengeful witch looking to get payback on her cheating scum of a husband and his mistress. After Jack had made the arrest, however, it turned out to be nothing more than a regular woman who spiked every last drop of alcohol in the residence with arsenic after the spells she found on the internet didn't work. Either way, Jack told him if he ever needed Sam's help again, he would let him know.

Sure enough, he had woken Sam up at about five in the morning with a text and a link to the article, as well as a link to the evidence they were still uncovering.

 _Eyes leaking blood, wide, as if she had been scared. Nice girl, according to the Phillips'. Got along well with their kid. Went to see the aunt she's been living with since she was five months old. Aunt didn't take it well. Asked if Wendy had any enemies, anyone that might want to hurt her. She said no. Apparently Wendy was a straight A student, had a lot of friends, was even volunteering at an animal shelter. We took a look at her room. Nothing out of the ordinary. She'd been reading the Bible. Crucifix was hanging above her bed. We did find one thing, though. Kinda threw the whole room off a bit. There was something like an altar on the window sill. It was a black candle with some weird symbol carved into it. Around the candle was dried flowers and a few bits of raw onyx. Witchcraft? I figured this might be up your alley._

Sam took a look at the picture. No. No, it wasn't witchcraft. He peered at the symbol on the candle and zoomed in a bit more. This, he decided. This was definitely a girl seeking to protect herself from something. But what?

He began to look over the crime scene photos, just as he heard the patter of feet coming down the stairs. Quickly, he flipped to one of his old cases. He couldn't let Beth see the photos. She'd ask too many questions, and he hated lying to his niece.

Beth groggily walked into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes.

"Morning, Bee. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, I guess." He watched as she went over to the pantry and pulled out a box of cereal.

"You guess?" Something was off about her voice. Sure, Beth had never been a morning person, but this was different.

"Yeah…just, weird dream."

"Weird how?"

She walked over to the table and remained silent as she got her breakfast together. There was a faraway look to her eyes, as if she were thinking about something that she couldn't quite place her finger on.

"Bee?"

She plopped down into the chair and slipped her spoon into the bowl. "Uncle Sam…do you remember that imaginary friend I had when I was younger? Puppy?"

"What about him?"

She began eating. "I had a dream about him last night. Or…at least I think I did. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

Beth shrugged. "I can't even remember what he looked like, Uncle Sam. Or what he sounded like. It's just…weird, you know? One minute he's practically my only friend, and now it's as if my brain wiped him out of my memory."

Sam turned off his tablet and sat it to the side. "Well, I mean, Bee, you did have that one bad experience with him."

Sam had remembered coming home to find Zoe cradling a crying Beth in her bed. She said that she had heard his niece screaming and, since then, had never left. After Zoe had been relieved, however, Sam had been able to find out that Cas had simply disappeared. The door to his niece's closet had been wide open, too, which Beth had refused to talk about. More or less, Sam had been left with more questions than answers.

"Oh…right."

"You're probably just stressed about your first day. It's completely normal for a person's mind to dredge up old memories when they're overwhelmed about something."

"Yeah, maybe."

His words seemed to have some effect on her and she looked slightly more relieved. "Tell you what." He leaned forward and tented his fingers. "Why don't I drive you to campus?"

Of course, he should've known better than to ask that. A wedge had been forcing itself between them for the past couple of years. She rarely spoke to him anymore. It was if something had drastically changed within her and Sam couldn't put his finger on it. He had supposed, at first, that it was just her trying to claim her independence. She had been a teenager after all. But even after she got out of that phase, there was still something there. It lingered, grew, like a rapidly spreading disease.

Now in his study, Sam flipped through the crime scene photos, feet propped up on his desk. He heard the front door close twenty minutes later as Beth left.

As soon as he was sure she was gone, he sat down his tablet and leaned back in his chair, craning his head towards the ceiling.

"Cas," he whispered. "Where the hell did you go?"


	4. Chapter Three

_The sky is so dark, so dark, can't see anything, where is everyone, why can't I see…The lightning is so bright…Where is it, oh, where is it…Not going to make it in time, can't…The lightning, the thunder trembles underneath not going to make it in time this is crazy, foolish, he can't do this Oh Father if only you knew…Not a leader, not anything…No, I am…Brother, betrayal…He lied, lied about everything, no innocence, orders…orders must be followed…What am I doing…why can't I see, oh why can't I see…Have to do what I've been told, no other way, no choice, there's nothing left to do…Brother…Why have you done this, why did you join the losing side…This is a battle that cannot be won, not by you or the rest of them…You will suffer…Endlessly…_

 _Elias…_

 _Elias…_

"Elias."

Castiel blinked.

"Elias." He had not said that name for centuries. Why was he just now speaking of it? Why had those memories suddenly resurfaced?

He looked down at his hands, realizing that he had been in the midst of finishing his tie. It took him only a moment to remember why he was doing such a thing and he let out a sigh.

"First day of the semester," he muttered. "Yippee."

He always despised the first day. Nothing but syllabi talk, introductions, the same speech he gave every year. Not that it had always been mundane, mind you.

He wondered if this is what humans described as becoming "burnt out". He had been doing this for the past eleven years, the same thing, over and over. Literature. The very idea of going over the symbolism and themes in "Dracula" again, listening to students debate "Madame Bovary"...It was truly maddening. How did they do it?

Castiel walked into the living room and picked up one of the syllabi from the stack he had sitting on the coffee table. Yes, it had been the same thing every year. He had been comfortable with it, the complacency. Yet, it had to change this year. It just had to. No longer could he be complacent, no longer could he keep-

 _Puppy._

A sharp pain shot through his head and he winced, doubling over, the paper floating to the floor.

 _I wish you were still here._

It felt like a nail was being driven into his skull ( _Or the edge of a blade)._ Ever since that night, when he'd confronted that beast that plagued her childhood, her pleading words stabbed into him, burning, white-hot, serving as a constant reminder of his promise; a promise he was forever obligated to keep.

Yet, Beth had not called out to him since she was eighteen years old. After that, he'd wiped all of the memories he could clean from her mind to give her no indication that he had even been remotely real. Just purely imaginary, nothing more. It was better that way, he'd told himself. He had tried shifting around what had happened that night, too, perhaps to ease his conscience of what he had failed to do in the first place, but she clung to it steadfastly ( _Stubborn, of course. Like her father._ ) The events of what had happened two years ago had stained her soul, left behind an ugly scar that would never heal, no matter the time. Not fully.

To make matters worse, the only solid, real memory she had of him (one she could only access in her dreaming state, if at all, Castiel made sure of that) was one in which he had fought off her nightmare, "the bad man in her closet".

Bad man in her closet. Castiel staggered forward and collapsed on the couch, the pain dying down to a mild throb. Bad man in her closet, indeed. He hadn't even gotten a good glimpse of the thing, but it had been powerful. Almost too powerful. The moment he had thrown open the closet door, the beast had run at him, grabbed him by the throat, hissed. Castiel had tried to teleport out of there whenever he realized the strength of the monster. When it saw what Castiel was about to do, however, the "bad man" had vanished with a splash of blinding white light.

What it was or who it was, Castiel didn't know. But it had weakened him and the bastard had gotten away.

And he'd left little Beth that night. He shouldn't have but, the more he'd thought about it, the more it just made sense to him that it would be easier, if not safer for Beth, if he'd just protected her from afar. So Puppy was gone and Beth grew up. Yet, after that night two years ago…He hadn't seen her since.

No. Sam had made sure of that.

On the table, his phone began to go off, pulling him from his thoughts. It was time to leave.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and pulled himself up onto his feet. Immediately his eyes went over to the papers on the table.

Same damn thing every year.

Beth

The professor was late. I checked my phone, then glanced up at the clock that hung just above the long whiteboard. Yep. Fifteen minutes late.

As I looked around me from my seat in the back, I could tell I wasn't the only one getting antsy. There was a girl who I swear had looked at her schedule at least ten times and repeatedly asked if this was the right room.

There were at least thirty of us in here, maybe more. One guy had ran in here five minutes before, sweat on his brow, and collapsed a seat close to me. Apparently it was his lucky day.

My phone suddenly vibrated and I looked down.

A text from Uncle Sam.

 **Uncle Sam: Know you're in class. Just wanted to wish you luck on your first day. Your aunt & I are going out later so we'll probably be gone by the time you get back. Dinner will be in the oven. All you have to do is heat it up. Love you.**

At least there wouldn't be any of that awkward talk later. As I typed a reply back to him, two girls in front of me began talking in a low whisper and giggling behind their hands.

"I heard this guy was so hot."

"Oh my God, same. If it were some old guy I don't think I could even stand to be here."

"My sister took this class when she was a freshman about three years ago and she said he definitely made the class tolerable."

The one with the red hair laughed and began pulling her hair up into a ponytail. "Think he'd be interested in 'staying after class'?"

"Doubt it. My sister said she tried flirting with him a couple of times, but he didn't seem interested. She thinks he's gay or something."

The redhead sighed. "Damn. Why's it always the really nice hot ones?"

"I know, right?"

Suddenly, a voice came over us and the conversations came to a standstill as a dark haired man in a blue dress shirt, black slacks, and-was that a tie?-came barreling through, a stack of papers balancing in one hand and a briefcase that kept smacking his thigh in the other.

"Morning everyone! Apologies for being late. The printer ran out of toner."

He plopped everything on his desk, back still to us, and turned to the board. He uncapped a marker and began writing.

"My name is Professor Wright, first name Alexander, but most people just call me Alex. I know it probably seems a bit bizarre to call your professor by their first name, but I assure you that it's perfectly-" He turned as he talked and, suddenly, his eyes locked with mine and they seemed to widen slightly. "Fine."

For a moment, he said nothing else, but then cleared his throat and picked up the stack of papers. "I'm…I'm going to be handing these out. We'll go over it together and if you have any questions please do not hesitate to ask."

His eyes darted up to me again and then down as he began slipping small stacks paper to each row.

I felt myself slipping further down into my seat, suddenly self-conscious. Was I revolting or something? Did I have something on my face? Had my makeup smeared? Did I have a giant stain on my shirt? My boobs weren't showing were they? I lowered my eyes and almost sighed with relief. Nope. Completely covered.

A paper was handed up to me from one of the girls in front and I took it from her and passed another back.

I brought the packet over my face and scanned the words, still dipped low in my seat.

It seemed pretty cut and dry. After looking at the schedule I noticed the books we were going to be reading: _"Anna Karenina", "The Age of Innocence", "The Picture of Dorian Gray"…_

Wow. Lots of betrayal…angst…Christ. Please tell me we weren't going to be writing papers on each of these.

My phone suddenly vibrated in my lap, making me jump. I peered down at the screen. What the hell?

 **Unknown: Little Beth, all grown up.**

I froze. You know how some people say they get chills along their spine, or the hairs on the back of their neck stand on end? I felt that, and more. It was as if they whole world stopped. The professor's voice faded into the background. All I could hear was my heart racing and breath slightly escalating. Everything seemed to be closing in, suffocating.

I opened up the keypad and typed back.

 **You: Who is this?**

Then:

 **Unknown: Tell me: Are you still afraid of the dark?**

As I lifted my head, I realized everyone's eyes were upon me. It wasn't until I looked back at my hand did I realize I had dropped my phone, the message still glaring at me.

Are you still afraid of the dark?

"You okay?" The guy beside me said this, or at least I think he did.

"I-I'm…" I stumbled to my feet. I felt sick. "Excuse me," I managed.

I made it out the door and out into the hallway, just in time for that morning's breakfast to come lurching out onto the floor.

So much for first impressions.


	5. Chapter Four

_Are you still afraid of the dark?_

The words ricocheted around in my mind relentlessly, each time more troubling than the last. I poked at my salad, the lettuce already wilting. I had no appetite tonight. The very thought of eating made my stomach cave in on itself; it was nauseating.

Uncle Sam and Aunt Terra had been surprised that I'd gotten home as early as I did and my aunt, the bleeding heart that she is, cancelled hers and Uncle Sam's date plans. Of course, I'd mumbled something about how she didn't have to and that it was probably something that I'd eaten or that I had a stomach bug. Which was a lie, of course, but telling them about the text was out of the question.

I had stayed up in my room, staring up at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes, never noticing the lighting had begun to change as the hours waned on. I'd stayed that way until my aunt came in and said that I should come down and try to eat a bit of dinner. I hated the very idea of being in my aunt and uncle's presence while the nightmare of earlier hovered about my shoulders.

Yet here I was, picking at my food while Uncle Sam and Aunt Terra were trying their damnedest to not look at me the whole time.

"So, Beth…" Uncle Sam began cutting into the slice of grilled chicken breast on his plate. "How was your first class? Before you left?"

"It was fine," I said dejectedly, not really looking him in the eye. "Our professor seemed like a nice guy."

After I had ran out of the classroom and puked, he'd appeared without so much as a single sound and helped me sit on one of the benches in the hallway. He'd gotten me a bottle of water from one of the vending machines, told me to drink it, and walked back into the classroom, only to come back out with my things. Go on home, he'd said calmly, a kind smile on his face. I'll see you next class. When he'd left for the final time, and, as I got up, a janitor had apparently gotten word of the disaster and started cleaning. I'm pretty sure I even muttered how sorry I was about seven times as I walked away.

Not only had it been embarrassing, but the words that remained on my phone didn't help matters any.

"Oh?" My aunt's ears seemed to perk at my words. "What's his name?"

"Professor Wright." I prodded some of the peas from the pile over to the salad. "But he wants us to call him Alex."

"Alex? That's a nice name, I suppose." Aunt Terra began to sip from her water glass.

"Yeah…Just…" My fork went still as he came back, his kind smile, his neatly styled dark hair. "He seemed really familiar. Like I'd seen him before."

"What did he look like?" Uncle Sam asked. He lifted a forkful of salad to his mouth.

"Um…he had dark hair…was kinda tall, six foot, maybe…And his eyes were blue. They…" The smile instantly went from my face and I swallowed. They had reminded me of a puppy's, sad and happy at the same time.

Puppy...

 _"Puppy!" I giggled as he held a finger to his lips, smiling._ _He sat next to me on the bed._

 _"Hello, Bee. Why are you still awake? It's past your bedtime."_

 _"Couldn't sleep."_

 _"Zoe let you have candy again didn't she?"_

 _I put a hand over my mouth to stifle another giggle and nodded._

 _Puppy shook his head. His eyes seemed like they were laughing and he himself seemed amused. "What am I going to do with you?"_

 _I bit my lip mischievously, my brain racing. I reached over to my nightstand and held up the thick book that Uncle Sammy had just started on that night._

 _"'Little Women'." Puppy's eyes narrowed, confused. "Is this a fantasy story about dwarves?"_

 _I laughed. "No, silly! It's about four sisters during the Civil War."_

 _"Ah. Yes. Of course."_

 _"Will you read it to me?"_

 _"Will you go to sleep if I do?"_

 _I nodded my head vigorously._

 _Puppy took the book from me and opened up to the beginning of the second chapter. "This seems like a rather long book to be reading to a five year old."_

 _"I like it," I said, snuggling deeper against the pillows. "The bigger ones always have the best stories."_

 _"I couldn't agree more." He climbed onto the bed and laid himself next to me, propping himself up on the pillows._

 _I nuzzled my head against his arm. I had a perfect view of the illustration just before chapter two began on the next page._

 _"Now." Puppy cleared his throat. "Are you ready?"_

 _I nodded my head again._

 _"Well then...Let's see here." He turned the page. "'Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stocking hung at the fireplace, and, for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago-'"_

The sound of a glass coming in contact with a table jarred me from the memory.

I looked up and found that my uncle wasn't even looking at me. He was silent, now poking at his own food. What had just happened?

"And you said his name was Alex?" Uncle Sam suddenly said, finally lifting his gaze up to me.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing. Just a pretty common name is all." My uncle flashed a small smile before getting up from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Aunt Terra asked as he headed towards the dining room door.

"I forgot that I was meeting a friend somewhere. He texted me earlier and asked if I'd join him for a drink."

"Oh." My aunt's face seemed to twitch only slightly, but never faltered. "Well…don't stay out too late."

"I won't. Love you both." And, after another brief smile and a kiss to Aunt Terra's cheek, he left, the closing of the front door his exit.

What the hell was that all about?

**CASTIEL**

The bar was a seedy looking place. Loud music, dim lighting. It was indeed a poster child for the likes of the drunken degenerates that populated it. Not that Castiel minded, of course. He'd been to places like this before and, after a while, he was good at blending in with the men who emptied bottles of wine or shot glasses of bourbon while saying sayonara to their livers.

He walked inside, the air stale, fermented with the heady odor of liquor, sweat, and…

He sniffed. Sadness. Yes. Definitely sadness. It was one of those bars. The jukebox was playing "Hey Good Lookin'" (oh, the cruel irony of it) and it seemed as if the bar was less packed than it should be. There were a few men sitting at the bar, shirts untucked, ties loosened. One man with a bald spot on the crown of his head even had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his jacket thrown over the back of his chair.

Castiel's eyes darted amongst the faces sitting at the tables until he caught a familiar one in the far back corner, shrouded in dingy lighting. He made his way over and sat down, the chair squeaking as he did so.

"I got your message," he said. "Out of all the places to meet at, this was your first choice?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he took a sip from the bottle in front of him. "Not my best idea, I know. So," he looked up at Castiel. "You're a professor, now, huh? Alex?"

Castiel let out a sigh and leaned back against the chair. "It means guardian of man..." He sniffed. "Trust me, Sam, I was surprised as you were when I saw her."

Surprised. More like terrified. He'd nearly broken a sweat. What if she recognized him? What would've happened then? It wasn't every day you saw your imaginary friend in the flesh. And as a professor, no less. He'd have a lot of explaining to do; even then she wouldn't believe him. She'd think he was crazy.

And he couldn't stop staring at her. She had changed so much since the last time. Her hair had gotten longer, her features more defined…He'd probably looked like a creep the whole time before she'd ran out of there all of a sudden and gotten sick.

"So this wasn't some plan you'd hatched up? You didn't convince some guy to drop his job and run off?" His voice was edged, sharp, accusing.

"Of course not." It would've been clever if he had, albeit a little harsh. "You aren't fond of the idea, are you?"

"I just don't want her to start remembering again, Cas. And besides." Sam sat up, then, his eyes locking with the angel's. "I thought I made it clear that you were to stay away from her."

"Sam-"

"You were supposed to be looking out for her, Cas. I thought that's what angels did."

"Sam, look, I know you're angry with me-"

"Understatement of the year."

"But there was nothing I could've done."

A glint flashed through Sam's eyes and a dark, thin-lipped smile passed over his face. "Nothing you could've done...You couldn't have visited her every now and again, told her everything would be okay?"

"No."

"And why the hell not?"

"When I left that night, Sam, it wasn't to abandon her. Something happened and...and it weakened me...She wasn't safe..."

Sam said nothing. Thoughts were racing at the speed of light in his mind, each different ( _Damnangelsstupidassholeswasn'tsafeshouldpunchhiminthefaceBethwhataboutBethshe'snotsafenotsafewhydothingshavetogowrongallthedamntimethiscan'tbehappeningwhatthehellisgoingonwhat)_ And then "The bad man."

"What?"

"The bad man in her closet."

"...Yes."

"What exactly happened, Cas? What was it?"

Castiel began to trace Enochian letters on his leg, a habit he had picked up in moments of boredom or when he was in a great deal of stress. "I don't know. Whatever it was, it vanished and took a great deal of my strength with it. It never resurfaced so I suppose I must have weakened it as well in fight."

Sam took a drink from his bottle. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asked quietly.

"You were angry, Sam. And Beth...after that night..." Castiel gave a nod of his head. "You were right. It was best if I'd stayed away from her. Permanently. Wiped away what traces of me I could from her memory. She didn't need them." He sat back up again and folded his arms on the table. "I want you to know, Sam, that I have no intention of coming back into Beth's life, if that is what you are concerned about. I respected your decision then, and I will continue to do so if that is what you want. I will be her professor. Nothing more."

The younger Winchester began to search Castiel's eyes. He was searching. It was as if...As if he could see into the angel's mind and read everything that was there, clear as day, just as the angel could his.

"Cas...What's going on?"

Castiel felt his body tense at the question. What point would there be in hiding it? He would be found out eventually, at some point. Things like this always had a way of getting out. "Something's wrong, Sam," he whispered. "Very wrong." But he needn't tell the whole truth, right?

"Cas?"

A sharp pain suddenly shot through Castiel's head. He wasn't in the bar anymore. The voices around him dissipated, the colors faded to monotone and began to run, like wet paint on canvas, like…

 _Like blood running down his face._

Castiel turned and before him was a silhouette of a figure, but oh, it was one he knew well. Through the shroud of darkness, he saw the smile, the red of blood against the white of his teeth, smeared on his chin and cheeks.

 _Like an animal after the feast._

The figure pointed a clawed finger at him. "Brother," he whispered. "Look how you've changed." The smile grew broader. "But then again…so have I."

That voice. "Elias?"

"Cas?"

Castiel blinked and found himself once again back in the bar. The figure was gone, his cold presence replaced by the emotions of the patrons. When he looked back, Sam was staring at him with a look, a look that was a mixture of confusion and worry, the anger gone.

"Cas? What do you mean something's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

"But you just said-"

"I was wrong." He hastily stood. "That seems to be happening a lot these days."

Sam stood as well and grabbed Castiel's sleeve before he could walk away. "Cas, if Beth is in trouble-"

"She isn't." Liar.

"Cas-"

"Do not worry, Sam. I will bring no harm to Beth. I promise." Even if that meant pushing her away at every turn. After all. It was for the best. Wasn't it? Kept things easy, clean...

With that, he yanked his sleeve from Sam's grip and walked out of the bar. His mind was suddenly flooded with a multitude of thoughts, but one in particular kept repeating itself, always in the spotlight, pushing the others back:

 _How_ _has he returned?_

He was supposed to have stayed gone, just like all the others. They had promised him that. He's gone, Castiel, they said. He's no longer a threat. Not anymore.

"Not anymore…" Castiel held up his arm, suddenly exhausted. A taxi pulled over to the curb and he climbed in.

"The University Terrace, please."

The driver nodded. "Of course, Castiel."

As the car steadied and was moving at such a gentle pace it seemed, Castiel leaned his head against the window. Sure enough, just as he suspected, it began to rain.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low. "How is it you've come to make such a rookie mistake?"

"Sorry?"

"Castiel. That was what you called me." He turned to look over at the driver and his eyes narrowed. "You can drop the act."

The driver smiled, almost as if he had been glad to get caught, as if he'd meant to make the mistake in the first place. "It's been a long time, Brother."

"You are no brother of mine. Not now, nor have you ever been."

"Come now, Castiel. Let's not be so crass." The man smirked up at him in the rearview mirror. "Let's be civil. We do have a lot to catch up on. After all, it has been, what? Eons?"

There were no other cars around. He could do this, make it look like an accident, come out of all of this unscathed. He much rather preferred to cause a commotion over what he knew was to happen. "Why now?"

"Like I said, Brother: We have a lot to catch up on."

"No," Castiel said. "No, I don't think we do." He lunged forward then, blade unsheathed. It was in those mere flickers of time did something change. In the man's eyes, he did not see an angel, nor did he see a demon. He saw nothing but the soul of a man, terrified, in his final moments of consciousness.

Elias had fled and Castiel and the driver were about to crash.


	6. Chapter Five

For the past few classes, Professor Wright hadn't shown. Instead he'd been replaced by an elderly woman who I was very sure had reached her retirement age several years ago. We had started on _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ at the beginning of the week and every few chapters we had a discussion on the symbolism and what we believed the recurring themes to be.

But, to be honest, my mind was elsewhere and I couldn't have cared less about the supremacy of art or how Lord Henry was a terrible influence on the protagonist (which he was).

All I could think about, really, was what had happened the night before…

**Wednesday, the night before**

" _Soul and body, body and soul-how mysterious they were! There was animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality. The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. Who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began? How shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists! And yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the various schools! Was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the body really in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The-"_

A sharp knock at my door pulled me from my place within the book, bringing me back to reality from the streets of London.

"Yeah?"

My Uncle Sam opened the door and took but a step in. "Hey, Bee, I-" He paused and noticed the book open in front of me. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were busy."

"It's okay." I marked my place with the scrap of paper I had torn from the corner of my syllabus and sat up on the bed. "What's up?"

"Your aunt and I are going out. Again." He smirked. "We figured our chances of success were a bit higher this time."

"Hardy har," I replied. I let myself smile this time.

"How are your classes going?" He nodded at the book.

"They're okay, I guess. Literature would be a lot better, though, if our actual professor was there. Instead we got this old lady who I know for a fact is way past her retirement age."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea."

"What happened to your professor?"

I shrugged. "Beats me. We just got told that due to "unforeseen circumstances", he was going to be out for the week, maybe the next. They weren't too sure on that part."

"Maybe he got sick or something?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Things suddenly fell into an awkward silence, before my uncle cleared his throat. "Well, I just wanted to come in here and let you know that we'll be gone a few hours, so you'll have the house to yourself."

I held a thumbs up. "Gotcha."

He swallowed. There was a look of apprehensiveness in his eyes. "You um…You sure you'll be okay, though, right? I mean, by yourself?"

I rolled my eyes. "I think I'll be okay, Uncle Sam."

"I mean, it's just-"

"What?" I looked at him right in his eyes. "Just what?"

It seemed as if he were about to say something, but decided against it. A small sigh escaped from him and he gave me a smile. A weak and very fake smile. "Just call us if you need anything." His voice was soft as he spoke. "Love you."

I said nothing in reply and just watched as he closed the door.

I waited with bated breath until I heard the front door shut and the car roll out of the driveway. It was only then did I realize that my fists were clenched, my jaw locked.

Why did he say that? Why did he even think to bring it up? The very thought sent my blood boiling; my heart was rapidly beating against my chest.

Just…why? Did he think if they left me alone for one damn second that I would…that I would…

What? Do what, exactly?

 _Blood. Why was there so much? Could a human body even hold all of this? Why didn't it hurt? It should hurt, shouldn't it? Mom? Dad? Get it out…Get…it…_

"FUCK!" I grabbed the book and sent it across the room. It slammed against the wall, fell to the carpeted floor with a thud.

Then, from within my bag, I heard my phone ping. A pause. And then it pinged again.

Uncle Sam, maybe, I thought angrily. Doesn't trust me enough.

I got up from the bed and retrieved the book. Somehow, miraculously, the scrap of paper had stayed in place. Well, at least I had that much going for me.

My phone pinged again.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

It didn't stop. It just kept on going.

"What the hell?" I went over to my bag, took out the phone. Twenty new messages.

And…

My breathing faltered. It was an unknown number. The unknown number.

Maybe it's not, I thought, trying to calm myself. Maybe…Maybe it's someone who just texted the wrong person.

Twenty times in a row? Don't be stupid.

Shakily, I opened my phone. "There's nothing to be afraid of," I murmured. "There's nothing to be afraid of. There's nothing to be afraid of…"

Yet, my words didn't stop my eyes from seeing the messages, nor my brain from sending panicked signals to my heart. I heard the book hit the floor again as it fell from my limp hand.

 **Unknown: You shouldn't curse, Beth. What a dirty mouth you have.**

 **Unknown: He doesn't understand does he?**

 **Unknown: The pain. The suffering.**

 **Unknown: But I do.**

 **Unknown: Why do you want to forget that, Beth?**

 **Unknown: Don't you want to see Mommy and Daddy?**

 **Unknown: I know they want to see you. Want to know how?**

 **Unknown: I'll tell you if you promise to keep it a secret: They told me so.**

 **Unknown: They miss their little Bumblebee.**

 **Unknown: Why can't you be a good little girl and die?**

 **Unknown: It's not that hard.**

 **Unknown: There's a thousand ways to do it.**

 **Unknown: It doesn't have to be messy.**

 **Unknown: It can be quick.**

 **Unknown: But if you're too afraid, I have a surprise for you.**

 **Unknown: Are you ready?**

 **Unknown: I'll do it for you. I love to kill all of my children.**

 **Unknown: Only I like to take my time. Time is such a precious commodity for me these days.**

 **Unknown: You didn't answer my question, by the way:**

 **Unknown: Are you still afraid of the dark?**

I screamed and chucked my phone as hard as I could, willing it to break into a million pieces. "LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

**Present**

What had I done then?

I had cried. No. No, I locked myself in the bathroom first. I had sat in the bathtub, sobbing, afraid, while, in my bedroom, I could still hear my phone going off. It only stopped when, hours later, I heard the front door open. To mask it all, I turned on the faucet and ran the shower. And I stood there, still in my clothes, used a fake voice when my aunt knocked on the door and asked me if I was alright.

Just this one time, she'd said. We have the rule for a reason, Beth.

Two years and you think they would have let it go, forget and move on.

Today, however, it was all I could think about.

I hadn't had the courage to look at my phone this morning (somehow it had survived my assault from the night before), but, when I finally did in the sanctity of a confined bathroom stall, I knew that I was going to have to make a trip to the boys in blue after my literature class. Damn the rest of them.

All it was, for the hundreds of texts I had received, it was the same thing, over and over again:

Bloody Beth on the Bathroom Floor.

Bloody Beth on the Bathroom Floor.

Bloody Beth on the Bathroom Floor.

I wanted to tell Uncle Sam. Somebody. But Uncle Sam…He would freak. I knew him, what extreme precautions he would take. That was something I didn't want.

Part of me wanted it to be nothing more than a senseless prank, some senior messaging me to mess with me or something. The thought was naïve, a vain attempt to turn the messages into something far less than what they actually were. No person knew what happened two years ago, no one but my aunt and uncle and the local hospital staff. No one knew about my fear of the dark. And, what was more, he'd known that I had said what I said, called me Bumblebee, which was a nickname my dad had started when my mom had dressed me up in a bumblebee costume for my first Halloween.

They miss their little Bumblebee.

A dull ache was beginning in my head.

I had to get out of here.

**SAM**

"So you don't have anything?"

"Sorry, Jack, nothing." Sam leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk, a leisure that he took advantage of whenever he could.

"Shit."

"Sorry," he repeated. "I know that wasn't what you were wanting to hear."

Jack sighed on the other end. If there was one thing Sam could count on, it was Jack's ability to be more than blunt and honest. "Not really, Sam. Just, Christ. I told her aunt we'd catch the son of a bitch that did this and now..."

"You don't have any leads? Any possible suspects?" They usually had at least one guy by now...

"Not a damn one."

"And you said the guy didn't leave fingerprints?"

"He's good, Sam. Too good. I hate admitting it, I do, but it's a fact." Jack paused. "This girl...You said what she had in her room wasn't some witchcraft, right?"

"Yeah. What she had set up was more like a ward of protection. Like the crucifix she had hanging up." Like it was her last line of defense.

"Sam, no offense, but last time I checked, candles and "wards of protection" didn't stop killers from murdering you."

"I mean, she was scared, Jack. Not to mention she was only sixteen. Put those two together and of course you're going to have a girl who probably wasn't thinking straight."

"Yeah. Guess you're right."

The two of them went silent for a moment before Jack spoke again, his voice quiet.

"Nora left me."

Sam sat up a little. "Christ, Jack. When did this happen?"

"Last night. Got home from my shift and she was just sitting there in the living room, her bags packed."

"Did she say why?"

"You bet she did. Didn't leave a damn thing out. Said she couldn't handle me doing cases like the one I was doing, that sooner or later I was going to get hurt and she didn't want to be around when it did. She'd always begged me to get a different job, something safer. But I never listened to her. Now look where its got me. Nothing to look forward to when I get home except sitting alone on my couch with the files and a pack of beer."

A sad smile came to Sam's face. Just like the old days, he thought. He could still remember the numerous cases that required him and Dean to pull all-nighters, beer and cheap, greasy food at their disposal. But that was before they found the Bunker. Before the world went to shit so many times and they had to save it. When had things stopped being so simple?

"You still there?"

Jack's words brought Sam back to the present. "Yeah, sorry. That...That's really shitty, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, what can you do. Women, right?"

Sam glanced over at the phone at his desk. The little red light was blinking. How long had it been doing that? "Listen, Jack...If you find anything new-"

"You'll be the first one to know, Sam. Don't you worry."

"Alright. Thanks Jack. Have...Have a good day."

"You too, Sam."

The call ended and Sam slipped his phone back into the top drawer of his desk. He would get a call from Jack tonight. He knew he would. The man hated to be alone, hated the silence. And now, that was all he had. He told Sam once that his wife talked for the both of them and then some. What was he going to do now?

Yes, Sam thought. Yes, I'll definitely be hearing from him.

Lowering his feet back down to the floor, Sam tapped the panel on the surface of his desk and brought up the files again. He stopped on the picture of Wendy Lance, a yearbook photo of her smiling and happy and very much alive. Who could hate this girl so much to do what they did?

He sighed and began going through the reports and, as he read them, he picked up the phone, tucking it between his jaw and shoulder. "This is Sam Winchester. I'm sorry you've been on hold-"

"Sam?"

The voice caught him off guard and his throat tightened. "Mom? Mom, what are you-"

"Sam, it's Beth."

Oh God, he thought. A thousand things began running through his mind and he stood up quickly, pushing his chair back against the wall behind him. Castiel's words were beginning to fire at warp speed in his head. She was hurt. Damn it, he should've known she wasn't okay. It was all his fault. Christ. Just...Christ. "Mom, I'll be right there, just...just tell me where she is. What hospital?"

His mother sighed. "She's not at a hospital, Sam. She's at the police station."

"What?" He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

"They're interrogating her, Sam. Beth tried to kill someone."


End file.
